In a small town of 6500 where football is king, you can understand my excitement when I, as an eigth grader, was invited to practice with the high school varsity team during spring practice. As the fourth of five boys and the only "athlete" of them all, I was often given more attention than I should have been. Imagine the hub bub when coach Griffin called my parents and told them the news.
So here I was, one of two eight graders, practicing with giants. Town was abuzz after week two when it was announced that starting with week three, I would be one of the two starting running backs in the upcoming spring game and jamboree. On Wednesday of that week, I broke through the line over the right tackle, got past the linebacker and cut left. Just as I cut, a defensive back hit me from the right. His inertia met with mine and combined for a temendous blow that sent me to the ground directly on my left shoulder with him falling on top. The "pop" of my shoulder separating sounded like a pencil being broken, and the pain was so intense I was completely paralyzed. No matter how I moved, I was met with indescribably pain. I was writhing in pain, expressing my pain through a continuous stream of moans and four-letter words. The coach comes over.
coach: what's the matter?
me: I don't know, coach.
coach: are you hurting or are you injured? if you are hurting it will pass.
interpretation: regardless, get up and get back at it.
I got up and sat out a couple of plays, but finished practice. I almost passed out because of the pain a couple of times, but I finished. After a restless night, I didn't go to school, which meant I couldn't practice. My mom took me to the doctor. After taking x-rays, he told us it was separated and that I would have to wear a sling for 6-8 weeks to see if it went back into place by itself.
"if not," he said. "We'll have to operate and and place screws in there to get back to normal."
"will I be able to play in the jamboree next week?" i asked woefully.
"I'm afraid not, son. not this spring."
FLASHBACK. as a fourth grader playing in my very first pee wee football game, we lost to Bonifay, FL 8-6. I cried, which brought the wrath of my father.
"if you ever cry again when you lose, you won't play!"
I wanted to cry when the doctor told me I couldn't play, but I didn't. My mom and I rode to the high school in silence, me looking out the window, trying to hold back the tears. I tried to subdue the sniffles. I didn't want my mom to see me cry. i wanted to be strong.
on the way home, my mom broke the silence.
mom: are you crying, son?
me, crackling voice: no ma'am.
mom: it's ok, son. let it go if you want.
me: will you tell dad?
mom: of course not.
the flood gates opened. I had never wanted anything more then or since than I did to start with the varsity team as an eighth grader. football was my life. I wanted it! wanted it! wanted it! sob after sob, alligator tear after alligator tear flowed. My sling was stained with broken dreams and lost hopes. My football life, I thought at that time, was over.
During this, I hadn't noticed that we stopped. When I gained control, I noticed two things: 1) we had pulled up to this ice cream shop called the "Dairy Dream." 2) My mom was crying with me.
me: mom, why are you crying?
mom: because what hurts you, hurts me more.
I didn't understand that statement then. In fact, I never understood it until I had children of my own. Then my mom said something that still reverberates any time I feel down.
mom: do you want an ice cream?
I knew what that meant. In a time and era when every penny counted and money was tight, when my parents often bought groceries on credit, she wanted to spend 35 cents on an ice cream to make me feel better. At 13, I knew this was a tremendous sacrifice.
mom: do you want an ice cream?
me, after realizing the magnitude of what she was doing: naw, that's ok mom.
mom: it will make you feel better.
me, after much thought: naw. that's ok. I know we can't afford it.
mom: if it makes you feel better, son, we can afford it.
me: ok, then.
My mom. Always thinking of others. Making sacrifices for her son. We ate in silence, then went home. Suddenly, my shoulder didn't hurt as much, but my love for my mom hurt because I couldn't love her more than I did.
